


Muddle The Mind

by PrinceJai



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, Dialogue Light, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 04:22:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20790569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrinceJai/pseuds/PrinceJai
Summary: Sam is worn like an old shirt, torn like the dog's blanket and a bit too done.Cas is there and Dean and Jack might be too.





	Muddle The Mind

The bunker was quiet. Only the low hum of electricity could be heard, felt. No one breathed in the library, no one paced the halls and no one laid in the beds.

Sam sat on the cold, barren floor of a desolate room, the smooth wall supporting his back. It was one of the many spare rooms they'd hardly ever gone into, except to check for some unseen danger that worked its way past the warding.

There were no monsters or danger, just cold and tired. Equal enemies to be sure, but ones Sam had come to rely on for their consistency.

Dean... was somewhere... with Jack. At least that is what Sam thinks. Memory doesn't stick, not the small things or the good, just the quiet, the lonely, those stay.

He thinks he does remember Dean telling him Cas would be there soon, that way Sam didn't have to be alone.

Dean knew something wasn't right with Sam, but Sam hasn't been right in forever, neither of them had been. Dean will be back though, he can't, won't, wouldn't leave Sam alone for long.

At least that is what Sam's mind tells him. It's what his weary, weary heart beats to.

Sam moves on from his brother to Jack, but the boy is with Dean and Sam's mind changes subjects once more.

He should remeber why he's sitting in the cold, dark and empty room. Nothing offers its self as answer and Sam spends several mintues staring at the open door and the light beyond.

A thought comes to be, Sam thinks, this room is like him, his mind, his heart, his soul. All... empty, nothingness, just barren.

That would make sense, Sam hums quietly in agreement with himself. His head is empty like the room, that is what he sees. The room is cold like his soul, touched by the devil as it was. Nothingness floating in the air like his soul.

Sam is worn like an old shirt, torn like the dog's blanket and a bit too done. A bit too gone, lost in nothing and high on cold.

Feathers rustle and Cas is there in front of him. Sam has always wanted to see angel wings and wonders if he'll get to see them and not their death burns.

Cas, the silly angel that always wore a trench coat, tilts his head to the side, confused for sure.

"Sam?" The angel asks as he kneels beside Sam.

His blue eyes are fixated on the hunter's hands and Sam wonders why, but doesn't look for himself. Instead, he tries to remember why he's in the room... oh, yes. The room is him.

"I-I don't understand. What do you mean 'the room is you'?" Cas studies Sam's face for a moment before grasping Sam's wrists.

Sam thinks there might be pain, which is funny because Dean wouldn't leave him hurt. But, Dean did leave him in this cold, dark room.

Or... did Sam run away?

A frown pulls his brows together and something hurts across his temple. His mind gives nothing and Sam's face smoothes out with the soothing empty.

But, there is something else there, something brought by Cas. The atmosphere _feels_ different and the might be pain is becoming definitely pain and Sam wants to go back the empty room.

It is gone though. There is no empty room. There is no bunker... There is no bunker.

Sam sucks in a sharp breath and shrinks back from Cas as he pulls himself upright.

"It's alright, Sam." Cas reassures him, grips his shoulder as if he's afraid Sam will disappear again.

Sam's head is spinning, his stomach sinking, his ears ringing. There's tree bark scratching, digging into his back, moss and stone under him and the night sounds of the woods around him.

There's borderline hyperventilating breaths that might be coming from him piercing the night air.

Someone not far away is calling his name frantically, echoed by a younger voice.

Something wet, tears, Sam's mind tells him, is blurring everything and tracing around a cut on his cheek.

For a moment the cold, the emptiness, the nothingness clings and Sam doesn't understand why he isn't in the bunker or why he feels so light.

Then it clears, his mind, his heart, his soul. They were on a hunt. Him and Dean. Cas had stayed at the bunker with Jack. It was a simple job, not far away, a hour or so South.

They'd thought it a demon, tormenting people, pushing them to rash choices. But, they had been wrong. Demons don't cast spells like that. They don't craft words to amplify a person's deepest, darkest most self-loathing thoughts. Not like that.

Dean hadn't left Sam alone. Sam had moved away to investigate while Dean called Cas for backup.

They shouldn't have needed it, but Sam hadn't been right in forever and neither had Dean. It could've been, did, was used against them.

The spell hit Sam with the force of a truck and the silence of underwater. Dean was gone in an instant and Sam couldn't remember what anything was.

Then Dean was there again briefly saying Cas would fix him and then he was charging towards something with Jack behind him.

Sam ran away. There was everything there and all he, his very being, wanted was something, nothing, empty.

That was why he was there in the woods, that was why Cas was holding his wrists so tightly. The sun was beginning to rise, pouring through the trees and bringing a much needed warmth.

Then Dean and Jack were there bringing a different kind of warmth. Vaguely, Sam could hear Cas say there was a ward preventing him from healing the wounds, but all Sam could focus on was Dean.

His heart.

His glazed eyes fell on Jack who was looking at the stains on Sam's clothes. The boy said something about the initial spell being gone and the ward to follow. 

His soul.

Cas helped him stand, gripping his shirt tightly. Telling him he'll be alright. 

His mind.

They weren't cold and empty and barren. No, they were warm and bright and just there. They were consistent in that they all made their way back.

Worn and torn, still loving and caring and comforting that is what Sam's heart, mind, and soul were. And he was there with them in this bright morning light, basking in everything. Not drowning in something, but living in everything. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, thanks for reading my first completed Supernatural fanfic! It came out of nowhere and I wrote it on a whim. I'm happy with it and happier I have something to contribute before the series ends.
> 
> Edit: 09/27/19  
I added a sentence or two towards the end. Nothing major.


End file.
